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2001-11-06 09:14:31 (UTC)

Four AM

we're all stuck in this, we're all a part of this. the
world is crumbling down around us and we stand here crying
and helpless, watching stars fall and people die and music
is playing, pledging allegiance to our grief. "this is the
end, beautiful friend..."

all i can do is go on about my life, make out with boys
with elvis jackets on the living room couch, watching dumb
chick-flicks and friar's club roasts, spend hours at the
diner where they know our names and bring us coffee without
asking. we adopted someone there, someone who was sitting
all by himself, crying in his cappuccino, moodily
chainsmoking marlboro lights. he told us his life story,
the story of the love of his life, the girl who broke his
heart, he was with her for two years, he told us. she
betrayed him and slept with someone else. we swapped
relationship horror stories and car crash dramas and other
such bullshit. this is my life.

my compadres are dropping like flies, "quiero que ir en tus
brazos," the bus boy sang to me as he followed me into the
bathroom. dashboard confessional is playing, it never fails
to make me want to cry. now it reminds me, sometimes it
reminds me of that fucking guy who i called my best friend.
everyone was my best friend at one point. i put too much
faith in things that fade away like the smoke that swirls
upward to disappear in the inky-blue night sky. i watch as
it flys away, the stars catch my eye and i'm mesmerized by
the clouds that move so quickly, obscuring the freckled
patterns. it's getting colder and colder, and i shiver in
my short sleeves. my mother would tell me to put a coat on
or go inside or something rational like that.

sometimes i wonder what we would do if something happened
to her. we would have to move in with my father, in the
tiny shack of an abandoned farm house, broken stairs,
cracked ceiling, doorless bathroom, dirt-floored basement,
the entire house littered with faded plastic toys,
cherished so many years ago in our youth, now simply relics
of a time long gone. he treasures them like gold. he
refuses to let go of our childhood. it passed him by in his
stoned daze, he barely remembers a thing. now it's too
late, his rude awakening came when we left him to live
alone in his misery. by then it was too late.

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